Quid Pro Quo
by lye tea
Summary: Neither one deigned to surrender, but she did receive a marvelous prize in return. /Lloyd x Rakshata/


**A/N:** For Miss Avarice. I am so sorry that it's so late. I haven't been able to find much inspiration for this series lately. Anyway, this is a humble, little backstory about when they were in university together. I hope you like it. :)

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**Quid Pro Quo**

_…these were the days of scholarly pursuit and licentious leers…_

**1.**

She could be so _shrill_ sometimes (and he had wanted to thrill her with the impaled, shining Knightmare corpses). Nowhere and capriciously— for whatever purpose he could not discover— he had infuriated her, unintentionally. And there she went, spiraling downwards incessantly, consumed in wrath.

_But it was just an accident._

"I'm sorry, I am! They _called to me_, you know how that feels. I couldn't _help_ but touch them!"

Rakshata snarled and lunged to strangle him. Lloyd side-stepped (just in time) like a cat and yelped in fear.

Really, she always took things out of proportion, out of context. It was just a disemboweled Knightmare frame, no prototypes worthy of worship, no one-of-a-kinds (those he kept secret and underground). A simple, nondescript (purloined) metal husk from class.

"Volatile shrew," he grumbled.

And Rakshata whipped around again to slay her prey.

**2.**

If Lloyd had been sane and thinking aristocratically (like father had mandated) he would never have embroiled himself in such a tasteless mess.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," Cecile—ever loyal, ever felicitous, ever devoted—reprimanded.

_Oh, lovely, lovely Cecile!_ (Lloyd flashed on his feline charms.)

"But she started everything!"

"What have I told you before? Never start fights which you can't finish!"

"I didn't start the fight, weren't you listening, Cecile? That woman is a fiend! She has no sense, no rationale. It's impossible to reason with her."

Cecile frowned at his unnecessary antics, pinned on the boutonniere, and stifled the urge to giggle. He had never looked so ridiculous. Dopy and droopy with his silver hair sleeked back and glasses askew from the tirade.

"_You still have no one to blame but yourself!_ As I recall, _you_ were the one who asked her to accompany you tonight."

"I was goading her, didn't think the loathsome cow would actually agree."

"And there you have it. Revenge never works out. If you had simply let it go, you wouldn't be so miserable now, would you?"

"You never understood me."

"I'm your nanny, Earl Lloyd, not your wife."

And Lloyd sighed and sighed oh-so histrionically and donned—what he liked to believe—a face no woman can resist. (Cecile turned out to be more nanny than woman and promptly shoved him out the door.)

**3.**

Rakshata glanced over her invitation, scowled heavily, and thought of a thousand ways to torture a man. He was late, _as usual_. And she was annoyed, _no surprise there. _

"Lloyd, you bratty bastard."

And then she stopped. Took a step back and inhaled sharply: Lloyd Asplund stood before her, sharp and perfectly pristine, dressed _impeccably_ (no oil stains or greasy cuffs) in a black tuxedo. With a sprig of flowers emerging from the lapel. Incredulous. Hesitantly, she walked closer—severing the gap in between—and smiled.

"You know how to clean up well."

"As do you. I see you've sheathed your claws for the evening, very wise."

(And the smile faded abruptly.)

"Let's just get this over with."

(He couldn't agree more.)

"Shall we?"

She took his arm, and together, they marched beyond the Roman (Bernini-inspired) gated arch. _Quid pro quo, quid pro quo_: she was not going to let him get away with this ultimate transgression (not this time, darling _Lloyd_). The University ball, what a pompous idea.

**4.**

To her absolute horror and his dreadful affliction, he asked her to get a cup of coffee—or tea, if you prefer—perhaps?

Rakshata shook her head (dusting off the thoughts, rolling around and around within the engineered confines of her iron-vault skull). She astutely examined his request from all angles, jolted every angle, and still: she found no ulterior motive. Distressed and disgusted, Rakashata cursed him powerfully.

He was clever, _shrewd_, and wily. And he had her (almost) trapped, that she conceded, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve too. And there was no way she would ever let Lloyd win.

And so, with all grace and amicability, she accepted his offer and even kissed him lightly on the cheek.

(As Rakshata glanced over, just leaving, she saw him doubled over, blushing and in patent agony. She smiled, justice had been served.)

**5.**

He chased and chased and _chased_, never relenting, never pausing to think of the consequences (as if there were any, her worse-than-worse half screamed). Day twenty- and he was waiting outside her apartment, eager and delighted, with a bouquet of beautiful roses and daffodils and—

_I'll be damned_.

He produced a tobacco pipe, rimmed in chrome and dipped in gold.

Rakshata smiled and waved him inside despite her logical remonstrations and altercations (inside her chest, her heart palpitated vigorously, thrashing against the muscled shell and veined squirming).

For all that he was not worth, Lloyd always knew the way to her heart.

And just this once, she will let him play the suitor.


End file.
